THE WEEK.

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume XIV, Issue 153, 28 June 1879, Page 2

THE WEEK.

Little did I think, when making a passing reference i last Saturday to the Prince Imperial, that I was writing of a dead man, yet so it was. The assegais of the Zulus had proved more fatal than the German bullets, and the young Prince who underwent hia "baptism of fire," as he rode by hia father's side on the field of Saarbruck, only survived to receive bis death wound ia the wilds of Africa. On that memorable occasion when he first took part in actual warfare, only nine short years ago, he was the heir apparent to the throne of France, and perhaps there was not then another individual in the wide world for whom a more brilliant future appeared to be in store. Four months later, a fugitive from his native land, he was availing himself of England's hospitality, which had once before been so eagerly accepted by his father in 1 his hour of adversity. Ere the decade, which commenced with 1870, the year so fatal to the arms and prestige of France,. has passed away, both father and son have disappeared from the scene, the one the victim of a painful disease, dying an outcast from the land he had ruled with so firm a hand the other losing his life in the service of that conntry which of all the nations of Europe was the only one able to stay the victorious career of his great uncle, by whom the name of Bonaparte was first rendered famous. And the dead lad's widowed motherl Does she in this her hour of bitter sorrow indulge in memories of the past, think of the proud position she occupied in June 1870, and contrast the then with the now? Who can tell? Hackneyed quotations, as a rule, are very objectionable, but, in with that little family of three, once so great, two of whom are ia the grave, while the sole survivor now has nothing left to live for, it is excusable if one's thoughts find expression in the words, " Thus does the glory of this world pass away." From a correspondent of the Colonist! learn that on Saturday I wrote of another dead man as though he had been living, Kereopa, the eye-eater, having been hung in 1866. My excuse must be that I was not aware that there were two blackguards of the same name, but thought that Kereopa, who is now stirring up strife in Taranaki, was the one known as the "eye-eater." It is evident that I owe an apology to one of the Kereopas for having mistaken him for the other, but to which to offer it I know not, as since my error was pointed out to me I have not had the means of ascertaining which of the two can lay claim to being, or having been, the bigger scoundrel. There was a meeting of the Wellington Education Board held the other day for the purpose of discussing the question of remunerating those of the members who at- ,

tended from the country districts. In the report of the meeting I find the following:— ■The Yen. Archdeacon Stock spoke in support of the motion for paying the country members, and incidentally mentioned that be thought the expenses of town members should be paid too. He said that every time he attended a meeting of the Board he went to Peter Laiug's shop and got ninepence worth of buns. He thought that he should be recouped this amount, for it was hardly fair that he should be called upon to pay his expenses when he was doing public duty, especially when he remembered that the members of the Board were Continually being taunted by the papers with being children, and frittering away their time instead of doing their work." My dear Archdeacon, after such a confession you surely are not entitled to complain of being included in the category of "children," for, besides your venerable self, I don't believe that, throughout the length and breadth of this Great Country, there is to be found another individual above the age of, say, thirteen who could put away nine penny buns at a sitting. An enterprising clothier in the North Island has the following advertisement in a newspaper published in the town in which he does busiuesg j— « Read this notice—Today we received direct from the milts a splendid lot of Nelson Tweed Suits." When I ask, where, ob, where are these mills ? the onlyjteply I can get is from Echo, and she, the confounded jade, merely answers in a meaningless sort of way, " Where ? " . An ardent sportsman, who would' as soon think of cutting off his little* finger as of killing game in any but an orthodox way, went into a shop the other day to purchase some wire, when the following brief co'loquy took place :— Customer : "I want some fine wire. —Shopman (quite innocently) : " Fine wire, sir ; yessir, for staring hares, I sugF°/ e 'if Ir Customer turned on his heel and left the shop in disgust, while the attendant wondered what he had done to offend him. lie had sold plenty of such wire before J